


Daddy Issues

by SophieGraceJ



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Daddy Issues, F/M, Forgiveness, Implied/Referenced Sex, Referenced Smut, Salvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 07:45:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14539986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieGraceJ/pseuds/SophieGraceJ
Summary: Go ahead and cry little girlNobody does it like you doI know how much it matters to youI know that you got daddy issuesAnd if you were my little girlI'd do whatever I could doI'd run away and hide with youI love that you got daddy issuesAnd I do tooDaddy Issues - The Neighbourhood





	Daddy Issues

“Sometimes it’s best to leave well enough alone.” He whispered.

That’s what your Mommy said too. When she didn’t know you were listening in on her talk with Daddy. 

The night he left – the night he opened the door, looked back and murmured sorry… He knew you were there under shadow on the staircase, huddled with your blanket and pillow. 

He knew but didn’t do anything about it. 

He didn’t fight it, didn’t oppose the oath that was thrown on him. 

Maybe for good reason, but maybe not. 

All you knew for certain was the fact you never saw him again. 

So maybe that’s why your body deadened on the spot. Maybe that’s why you grew paralyzed right there. 

Maybe that’s why you held your mouth agape. Maybe that’s why you lost sight of what was really in front of you. Maybe that’s why the cuffs hanging by your hand remained unused and suspended from your gloved fingers. 

Maybe that’s why you didn’t arrest him right then and there- maybe that’s why it took you so long to decide.

‘Rookie.” 

“Rook.” 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The Marshal was the voice that pushed you out of the cage. The one who clicked open the lock. 

It was like open-lids had been closed for the majority of your trip down memory lane. 

But the invisible cloak was ripped from your eyes and you were back in the moment- the present. 

The Sheriff and Marshal waiting for you to do your job. 

Your job? For a second you had forgotten you had responsibilities. 

You were back to being a little girl who had no clue. 

But those eyes supported the revelation that you were no longer a little girl on stairs, confused by her Daddy turning his back on her forever.

His eyes.

Green eyes- no, blue… It was hard to tell beneath the tinted sunglasses. 

Anyway… they minded you with an edge, a sharp one that could easily cut if too much pressure was applied. 

And hell was there pressure. The pressure of a hundred people outside prepared to protect their “Father” to the death.

And the pressure of Whitehorse and Burke, Hudson and Pratt. 

Hope County. 

It wasn’t your fight, but you knew as those eyes studied you with an understanding and empathy you could feel radiating from his entire physicality, you knew you had to make it your fight. 

You weren’t going to be like your Daddy. You weren’t going to listen. You were going to fight it. You were going to oppose it. 

You were going to embrace the job you had given yourself and be what you had become willingly or unwillingly. 

You might have been a rookie, new to it all, but you were a Deputy Sheriff and your job was to protect people of Hope County. 

Hope County happened to be the substitute for a child, and you happened to be the substitute for a man who lost his chance at being a Father. 

You weren’t going to be like him though. You weren’t your Daddy. 

No matter how much you wanted to be like him. No matter how much you didn’t want to be like him … none of it mattered. 

You weren’t him.

So, you did your job.

Nervous, jittery, shaking. You did your job though, because it was the right thing to do. 

You tried not to look him in those falsely green eyes while you stepped forward, grasped his tattooed arms in your hands and cuffed them just the same. 

You tried not to look his brothers and sister in the eye as you guided him away from the moonlight and stage. 

Eden’s Gate. The words glowing like a mystical prophecy on those screens.

You tried not to look at anything but your hand that rested atop his warm shoulder, his shoulder that the crown of your head reached only the tiniest bit over. 

He was tall. Lithe and athletic, but felt like a spirit beneath your fingers, like nothing but the projection of a man that didn’t really exist, an entity, maybe it was the glove though… 

“Sometimes the best thing to do is to walk away.” 

It played then replayed, played then replayed in your mind over and over again. 

That one fragment from his advice floating from one ear to the other, in the distance between them. In your mind. 

Was that what your Daddy thought when he left that night?

Was that on a constant loop as he mouthed sorry to you with the hint of tears in his eyes? 

You’d never know, not that it mattered right? 

No. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how his “flock” heated in crowds surrounding the path you followed behind Burke, Whitehorse and Hudson. 

No, it didn’t matter. 

You couldn’t pest yourself over what you couldn’t change, like the men and women crying and praying. Begging you to give him back.

Give him back.

They wanted their Father back. 

No. 

You steered your eyes away from them, clenched your jaw tightly, nostrils flaring, inhaling the cool early morning air. If it was possible to call it morning.

Just look forward. To the helicopter. To Pratt. 

So close. You were so close. 

They hadn’t even touched you yet, hadn’t thrown a thing at you, hadn’t threatened you with their fury and distress of the situation. It’s like he was a shield. 

Through being so near to the man whom you had arrested, it had saved you from the harassment somehow.

In a sick way, he was your “savior” just as he was theirs. Perhaps more to you than to them.

But you weren’t going to thank him. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be reliving past memories you’d rather much keep buried in the deep part of your subconscious. 

He was a match that lit the woods made up of memories and self-insecurities. The match he was may have been small and unintentional but it was enough to be the catalyst of a wildfire. 

But neither of you stopped. It was the calm before a storm. The heavy smoke before the orange flames revealed themselves.

It was false security and hope guiding you as you guided him.

A light in the dark.

Until you finally reached your way out. 

And your way out turned out to be anything but escape. 

“I told you that God wouldn’t let you take me.” 

“Everything is just fine here.”

“No need to call anyone.” 

“Yes, Father. All praise be to you.” 

“No one is coming to save you.” 

No one was coming back for you. 

He wasn’t coming back for you. 

Your Daddy never came back for you. 

You were blind but now you see. It wasn’t up to your Daddy or anybody else, it was up to you to save yourself. 

So, you did. 

When everyone else left you behind in that carcass of a helicopter. When the Marshal ran and left you to the flames of your own fears, you grunted and squeaked, you growled and pulled at the seatbelt until it released you into the darkness. 

Into the woods where flashbacks congealed with the conscious world in front of you. 

When you thought for one moment you had persevered, you were back in the ocean, you were drowning in a river of your subconscious and you were abandoned once more. 

You were lost, but then you were found. 

Dutch.

But there was no such thing as the easy way out, it was your fight again. 

Again, and again. Again, and again. 

You fought, you won, you lost. 

You remembered, you mourned, you moved on.

On a loop. Fight, win, lose, remember, mourn, move on. 

In reality though, you lost something as a child, you mourned that loss, you fought the grief and missing piece of a puzzle you weren’t sure you needed in your life, then you won a time of peace through forgetting that truth, until you remembered that truth and lost again.

You lost again in the here and now. 

And you began to wonder if you’d ever feel that feeling of moving on. You hadn’t moved on, and you never would. Not in the case of your Father. 

Your Father. Not The Father. 

Your Father.

Not a man that was placed high on a pedestal and worshipped like a God. 

But your Father who would never know you missed him for all these years without really knowing him at all. 

And something told you – somewhere within you, you knew you didn’t need a deity or man that was idealized as a God to understand your Father missed you too. 

But you needed help. And help came in ways you never expected.

Through John Seed did you see your past and grief as a ghost that haunted you, one that you could befriend and accept as something apart of you, but something that didn’t define you. You were more than what happened to you.

Through Faith Seed did you understand the power of delusional hope in what you were doing, no, it wasn’t delusional, it was a strength to believe in yourself and your worth. You were more than what you didn’t understand. 

Through Jacob Seed did you learn an eternal fire in your spirit that never dispersed. The instinct to survive, to push forward even in the worst of times. To know that you make your own purpose and your own end. You were more than what destroyed you. 

Still, no sign of moving forward. No sign of forgiving. 

You had everything prepared, you had it all ready to accept and obtain the inevitable. 

But you just couldn’t. 

Not when John closed his eyes believing no one understood or loved him. 

Not when Faith – Rachel, not when she gave life to her voice one last time believing no one wanted her. 

Not when Jacob heaved his last breath believing his purpose had been served and there was nothing left for him to do. 

Did they forgive their past? You didn’t know for sure, but there was a finality to their ending. 

Their ending you brought upon them. 

No, you had to. 

Just like how your Daddy had to leave you. 

There were some things you had to do, no matter the pain and consequence. 

Still, you didn’t move on. 

There was so much you missed, so much you yearned for, things you never had but missed as if you did. 

It was simple but felt so profound and complicated, too intricate and fragile to ponder over. 

You never had a relationship with your Father. 

You never had one. 

And with that you lost not only a love and teacher, you lost a confidence, you lost a strength, you lost half of yourself even if you were visibly complete. 

The world was ending before your eyes, after everything, after all the losses and victories. The world crumbled and exploded into flames. 

He was right. His blue eyes, yeah, they were blue.

His blue eyes appeared a tone of grim victory. He was right all along. 

You could see it, so vibrant and alluring. 

This pride, this suppressed sin in him shining through, this monstrosity of finally being right, of being not some crazy, looked down upon nobody. 

But what he didn’t know would be his downfall.

Your world ended for you when your Daddy walked out that door. 

Yet your downfall was that what you believed he didn’t know, was what he knew all along. 

He saw it in your eyes just as you saw it in his. 

Underground you would find comfort in his arms, his warmth and serene love, unconditional love. His forgiveness. 

You found forgiveness in the last place you expected.

The Father. 

“I am your Father and you are my child.”

“And together, we will march to Eden’s Gate.” 

With every touch, every prayer, every whisper, every moan, every thrust, every hit, every punch, every stroke, every kiss, every bite. 

He guided you through it all, in the solace of a bunker while the world above fell apart. 

You had Daddy Issues. 

But with The Father between your legs, with The Father chanting in your ear. 

You didn’t have any issue.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah haha  
> This isn't that good, I just had this idea stuck in my head after constantly listening to this song ... And this is what happened.  
> It didn't go as I planned it would, I was hoping to write full on smut haha But nope, I think I may have got lazy.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this nonetheless, and I'd like to say I'm nearly close to updating one of my other fanfics for Far Cry, The pomegranate seed, did she eat it willingly? :D


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